


you put a fever inside me (and i've been cold since you left)

by atlantisairlock



Series: quiet nights poured over ice & tanqueray: shoot x halsey [9]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fpreg, Not Canon Compliant, POV Second Person, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your world ends when Shaw dies - </p><p>and then it starts again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you put a fever inside me (and i've been cold since you left)

Your world ends when Shaw dies. 

That's it. Not even your God can save you. Everything after the stock exchange is a dismal facsimile of reality. To put it simply, it all goes dark.

Your world ends when Shaw dies.

 

 

And then it starts again, four weeks after you lose her. 

It starts again when you wake up one morning and you're instantly seized by the overwhelming urge to run to the bathroom and empty the contents of your stomach into the sink. You retch for five minutes straight, then collapse on the floor with a sour taste lingering in your mouth and do some calculations. 

You're a mask of calm when you exit the bathroom into the subway and tap John on the shoulder. "I need you to do me a favour."

 

 

You're late, you're exhibiting all the symptoms and yeah, you'll admit it, you're scared. You don't let him see it, but your hands are shaking when you take the test kit from John's hands. 

It's the most nerve-wracking two minutes in your life, and when the screen flashes two lines for positive, your legs give out on you and you land with a thud on the ground. John rushes in, comes to your side, and grabs you by the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Wordlessly, you hand him the kit. There's total silence in the tiny space as he processes what's going on, before he puts an arm around your shoulders and urges you up onto your feet. "We should go talk to Harold."

"No," you reply forcefully, stopping in your tracks. "I don't want to tell - anyone about this, not yet. Not now." 

"Okay," John answers agreeably, keeping his voice soft and reassuring. "Let's just get you back to your room."

This, you accede to, more because your mind is in a whirl and it's almost comforting to let someone else make the decisions for you right now, when your world is falling to pieces all over again.

 

 

John doesn't ask questions, because he already knows the answers.

"It's Sameen's."

"Yes."

A beat. "You're keeping it."

The thought of doing anything  _but_ fills you with inexplicable rage and grief and guilt. "Yes." 

"This is what she would want."

"I... think so." The lie comes easy off your tongue - you don't know, exactly, what Shaw would have wanted, because neither of you ever even considered the prospect of having kids, not with the life you both lead, not with the world you know you would be bringing them into. But this could be all you have left of her, and you desperately want to keep that with you. 

He taps his fingers against his knee. "Well, let's get her back, then." 

You really, really like John. 

 

 

He keeps your secret, and doesn't say a word when you continue to go out on missions and chase down numbers and fight the good fight against Samaritan. Harold and Lionel don't pick up on anything for the early months, because your appearance doesn't change much and you don't drop a single hint - you've always been good at hiding things in plain sight. 

It isn't until a particularly dangerous run-in with some young man who has priors and a healthy stash of weaponry that anything really changes. It's second nature to you, to risk your life and get into the fray, so you don't even think twice about doing it. 

When the perp raises his gun at you, you don't even have time to put your finger on the trigger when John leaps at him at inhuman speed and tackles him to the ground, bending his fingers back and knocking the pistol a few feet away. Pinned under his weight, the terrified man howls in agony. John takes no notice and turns to you. "You okay?"

You blink. "Yes. I would have been, even without you intervening." You point out, feeling a little aggrieved - does he think being pregnant has blunted your edges? Does he really think so little of you? Does he - 

But then his gaze darts towards the slight swell of your abdomen. "Sameen is my only sister," he says, blunt and no-nonsense, and it's not lost on you how he's using present tense. "I would never let anything happen to her child - or the woman she loves - if I could help it."

After that, what can you possibly do _but_  go back to the subway and tell Harold? He's speechless for a good ten minutes, before he finally nods in acceptance. "Well, Ms Groves, it seems like it would be best to take you off active duty for a while."

"Not  _now,"_ you protest, shuddering at the thought of being stuck underground for six months while Samaritan wreaks havoc on the world above. Harold sighs. "Not right now, then - but it would be wise to halt all direct confrontation by the four-month mark, and active duty of any sort at five months."

You can work with that. 

 

 

You're only just beginning to really, unmistakably show when you all discover that Sameen is alive. In Samaritan's clutches suffering God knows what sort of torture, but  _alive._

Against everything you could have prayed for, the mother of your child is  _alive._

You let yourself break down and cry and scream for just an hour, and then gear up at full force.

"Hold on, Shaw," you say, leaning over the Machine. "We're coming."

 

 

For all your protestations, you end up leaving all the fieldwork to John and Lionel when you hit the second trimester. You get tired a lot more easily and your cravings are  _ridiculous_ and you throw up five days out of seven. It comes to a point where, even if you wanted to go out and chase numbers, there's no way you possibly could without endangering yourself and the team. Harold takes it upon himself to make the subway a more child-friendly place. It's a difficult task, for reasons evident, but he tries. A crib is set up in your nook of a bedroom, early as it is, and he delves into research in order to find out how to make the entire process as easy and pain-free as it can get. 

You're touched by John's fierce protectiveness, by Harold's unwavering dedication, by Lionel's unassuming kindness - if he thinks you don't know how all the free trade, allergen-free stuffed animals are getting into the cot, he's wrong, but you let him get away with it anyway. You suppose they see it as their child, as much as you do. 

All of you forbid yourselves from even allowing to think that Shaw might be dead, for all your sakes. 

You don't want to raise this child without her. You could, but the idea is unthinkable. 

You let yourself hope, and believe.

 

 

At six months, Harold manages to arrange an ultrasound despite the danger surrounding all of you. Some shady medical professional visits you at a safe house, mistakes John for the father - bad sign - and sets up some fancy-looking equipment that looks like it belongs in a hospital. It looks like the kind of thing Shaw would be at least vaguely familiar with, and it makes you ache beneath your ribs. 

It's all a blurry grey mess on the screen and the printout alike, but the ultrasound tech nods sagely and gives you a half-smile. "Congratulations. It's a girl."

John's grip on your shoulder tightens, and your throat constricts. A daughter. You wonder how she'll turn out, if she'll have Shaw's smile, or your nose, or an amalgamation of both your features. 

"Maybe you should start thinking about names," John says casually, once the tech has packed up and left. 

You suppose you should, but all you can focus on is the photographs in your hands. Suddenly this feels so incredibly  _real,_ and all you want is for Shaw to be here with you, right now, to watch this miracle come to life. 

 

 

Harold assures you that he'll handle your daughter's identity. All the forging of papers and hacking of databases can be done with ease. She will be safe, as safe as anyone can be with Samaritan watching everyone 24/7, and she will _exist_. John slaves away familiarising himself with the process of labour and delivery and worries endlessly about what needs to be done after the baby is born. It's almost anticlimactic when the date finally arrives. It's not to say it's easy - it's fucking agony, it's like nothing you've ever experienced, it's drawn out and exhausting and you nearly beg Harold for morphine, for  _anything_ , and honestly, when the sixth hour rolls around you're pretty sure you'd take getting shot ten times over this. 

It takes nine hours before John exhales in a sigh of relief, of awe, and the subway echoes with the sound of wailing, the cries of a newborn. 

He holds her so reverently, it's like he's holding a wonder of the world, and when he places your daughter in your arms, you think he might be. She's tiny and loud and so beautiful, so precious - you can feel every priority shift, and you know you would leave everyone in this world and beyond it to die in order to protect her and keep her safe. 

You name her Nadia, for hope, which is the only thing that's kept you holding on. 

She has Shaw's eyes. 

 

 

It's a lot harder to raise a child than any of you expect, but you're not alone. 

That, in and of itself, is enough.

 

 

Three months after Nadia is born, Shaw quite literally stumbles back into the subway and into your life. She crumples to the ground bleeding from a wound in her side - John has to patch her up and bring her to safety. The boys decide the safest course of action is to quarantine her for two weeks and run some tests to make sure her escape from Samaritan wasn't a trap, that she isn't under anyone's control and she's here of her own strength and intelligence and volition.

All you know is that all of you didn't search hard enough for her. 

John stops you from entering the room she's locked in. You move Nadia into the crook of your non-dominant hand and punch him in the face. It knocks him out pretty effectively - it won't keep him down for long, but it's enough to slip in to Shaw's side. 

Her eyes are half-open, but they widen by a fraction when she sees you, when you perch on her bed. She inclines her head so your eyes meet. "Root?"

"Sameen," you whisper, the syllables sweet on your tongue. Your chest hurts - to hear her voice again, after so long, to hear her say your name - it's like nothing else you've ever felt in the world.

Ever observant, ever perceptive, she turns her attention onto Nadia immediately. "Who is that?" She slurs, pointing at her general direction. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to ignore the heartache you feel. "Sameen. This is our daughter."

And  _oh,_ the look on her face, the stunned shock in her eyes, the disbelief, and behind all of it, that faint glimmer of longing, of hope. She stretches her fingers towards Nadia, lips parted. "Ours?"

"Ours." You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. "I... found out, about a month after you - " It sticks in your throat -  _you died._ "After the stock exchange. She's three months old now." 

Shaw studies her, her fingertips close enough to brush against Nadia's cheek but not yet touching. "She looks like... me." The sheer astonishment in her tone is impossible to mistake. "Can I... hold her?"

You're not one to trust blindly, but this is Shaw, and she's broken every rule you've ever had. You place Nadia in her arms, and Shaw cradles her like a pro, rocking her gently. There's a light in her eyes now that you don't remember ever seeing before. 

"Samaritan is coming," she murmurs, low and quiet so she doesn't wake Nadia. "We are in danger. All of us. Including her." 

"Way ahead of you, baby," you say, sidling closer to her and burying your face in the hollow of her collarbone. She's so much thinner, and there are new scars marring her flesh that you don't remember seeing. But she is still Shaw, and that's all that matters. "We'll face it together. No matter what comes. We're  _together._ Let Samaritan try." 

Shaw tucks her chin on top of your head, and you find that you truly mean what you say. There will be a myriad of new dangers to face tomorrow, and you want to know how Shaw escaped, what Samaritan has done to her this past year, how she made it all the way to the subway. 

But - tomorrow. 

"Stay with me." You breathe into the shell of Shaw's ear. "Stay with us." 

Shaw tightens her grip on Nadia, on you. "I will."

**Author's Note:**

> the online sources are conflicting but i'm pretty sure the name nadia is iranian in origin or at least widely used in iran and also spain? thought it would be appropriate since shaw is iranian and sarah has iranian and spanish ancestry.
> 
> posits that the simulations didn't happen, just conventional torture. aka shaw's dealing with the aftermath of a shitload of physical trauma but she does have a solid grip upon reality.


End file.
